


Cocoa (SweetHeart)

by PartilliaPie



Series: Weekdays [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fire Magic, Human/Monster Romance, Humans have magic, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader is named, but you can just change it if ya want, haha - Freeform, in your head y'know?, projectile magic, reader is a hothead, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-01 06:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartilliaPie/pseuds/PartilliaPie
Summary: Once upon a time, two skeletons found a baby in a tree.





	1. Eyes on the Prize

Objective: Hit all 20 of the targets.

If someone told you a few years ago you’d be running in a forest firing arrows made of magical fire, you’d call them extremely creative.

But that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. Running around, climbing trees, and jumping over obstacles to hit and burn all of the targets. It’s nearly been twenty minutes and you’ve found sixteen. These are getting hidden better and better every time, you swear.

You see one connected to a high tree branch. Ah, they are really testing your depth perception today.

You position your bow and pull back the string. Magical energy collects at your fingertips and connects together to make a solid green arrow. Aim… You let the arrow fly. It hits the branch. It starts to catch on fire, but you call off the magic. Dammit. You pull another arrow, hits the branch, farther away from the target this time. You fire another. Nope. Another. Nope. You try climbing a nearby tree to give you a better angle. Miss. Another. Miss! What the hell?!

You rip the eyepatch off your left eye and habitually shut your right so you can aim better. But it doesn’t work, as usual. You let out a frustrated yell, fruitlessly trying to open your left eye. Dammit, why can’t you do this?! You lift your hand to your eye and…

Healed shut.

Shiiiiiiiiit. Right. You forgot again. This is what aim practice was for.

Welp, there goes your good mood. And of course you lost your eyepatch. You get out of the tree, deciding to skip this one for today. The last three targets aren’t that hard for you to find, though one was at the bottom of a lake. It doesn’t burn.

You exit the forest and go back to the house where Red and Paps are waiting for you.

“THIRTY TWO MINUTES AND TWELVE SECONDS. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU’VE SET A NEW RECORD FOR YOURSELF.” Red throws you a water bottle and Paps tries to hand you twenty dollars. Oh right, if you finish faster you get money.

“No thanks, Paps. I skipped one.” You uncap the bottle and chug down half of it.

Red and Paps share a look. “WHY DID YOU SKIP ONE?”

“yeah, ‘nd where’s yer patch?” Sans taps his socket.

“It was too far away, I kept missin’,” you walk past them into the house, headed for the stairs. You’re tired and frustrated. A bath would be nice. You kick off your shoes and leave them and your bow at the foot of the stairs. “yer patch?” Red calls after you.

“Lost it.”

“why’d ya take it off?” He follows you up the stairs.

“None of your business, that’s why,” you snark while opening the door to your room. Forget the bath, you’ll just go to sleep. Maybe do your homework.

“look, if ya forgot again, it’s okay,” he grabs your arm, “do ya wanna--”

You snatch your arm away and step into your room. “No, I don’t wanna talk about it, Red! I want to go to sleep, and I’m super annoyed right now so if you would kindly FUCK OFF!” You slam the door and stare at it like it’s the reason you’re angry. You hate being a hothead, your temper is terrible and makes you want to break stuff when you’re upset. You shouldn’t even be upset about this, you’re just… Ugh! You’re mad! Just, let it teer out, don’t stand in one spot, you’ll burn through the carpet.

You stomp around your room for stars knows how long until you tire yourself out. The clock reads 21:18. Not late, but late enough. You plop down on your bed and stare at the ceiling. Sigh, well that was a whole bunch of stupid. You should apologize to Red later. Right now, though? Tired.

You drift off to sleep while absentmindedly tracing patterns on your bed.


	2. Band is a Sport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but assertive.

$5 a reed at school? No way! $15 for a 10 pack at your local music store? Now that’s what you’re talkin’ about! You throw the items into your arm basket, plus a $5 synthetic reed just for curiosity’s sake. Do you need more cork grease? Yes, yes you do. Saxophone errand shopping! Yeah!

This music store, this rundown piece of crap building, is your life! Despite the store looking like it’s ready to cave in on itself, the stuff they sell here is pretty legit. You bought your first ukulele here like all the other cool kids in middle school and you’ve been a regular since.

Of course, you’re not the only regular. Other band kids frequent this store like an oasis. Hell, the owner noticed this and started selling some really good marching shoes so that no one had to pay the school’s $40 (which, by the way, students didn’t even get to keep when they graduated).

Someone raps you on the back, “Are you inwardly monologuing again?” You flinch and nearly punch whoever this is, but stop short when they get into your field of vision. Oh, it’s just DJ.

“I look at the nerd that snuck up on my blind side,” you shoot him a sharp smile, “DJ, my old friend who likes to kidnap me on occasion. And one would have thought that after losing a leg, he would stop sneaking up on me.” Honestly.

“Aren, no,” he grumbles.

“I know saying that makes him feel awkward and I live for his mortal embarrassment,” you laugh and follow him wherever he’s headed. He grabs a bottle of valve oil and a rag and throws them into your basket. “Hey, did you see the girl selling pastries today?”

“Yeah. I think her name’ss Tuffy or ssomething,” he shrugs.

“Yeah, she’s Miss Muffet’s daughter.”

“Yikess. Issn’t she a black widow?”

“Heh heh, yeah. But my question is how she's getting away with selling them on school grounds.”

Your conversation continues on and on until you both pay for your stuff. You both take a minute to mess with the poor feline girl working behind the counter. What can you say? She’s new and you’re both mean like that.

You throw your items into your phone inventory and start making your way home to (bleh) finish your homework.

“Aren, wait up,” DJ grabs onto your arm, “You free today?”

“Maybe,” not really, “If I have a ride home.”

“Conssider yourself free, then. C’mon, my car’ss over here,” he slings an arm over your shoulder, leading you.

And there he goes, kidnapping you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The double 's' is DJ's speech is because he has a lisp.
> 
> Or, at least, I think sharp teeth would give you a lisp.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, tantrums... Fun, right?


End file.
